12 Months
by The Maze Writer
Summary: The days and nights drag into months and months without him. Without Phil. Dan can't cope with the memories, the crushing loneliness of living without him. As every month passes, he just gets worse. Everything does. One-Shot


**A/N: This is by far my best piece of work on this site. Please leave reviews as I worked really hard on this.**

 **If you are reading "In Which The Monsters Always Win", (I'm really proud of the second chapter), a new chapter will be up soon. I have about four prewritten.**

 **1st Month:**

He doesn't leave his apartment. _His_ apartment. Not theirs, not ours, **his**.

There are some day's he can't breathe. He's trapped in a small, dark space that seems to be closing in around him.

The lines on his wrists are becoming more numerous and visible as the days go on.

He can't eat, his dreams are plagued with nightmares.

He doesn't speak to anyone.

He can't face the street that was now cleaned of the blood that got spilled across its cobblestones.

The door to Phil's room is shut, and hasn't been open since _that day._ He can't face the sight of it. The memories, the laughter, the ghostly silhouette that sits by the tripod.

All he wants is his friend back.

 **2nd Month**

His phone won't stop ringing.

He contemplates throwing the fucking thing out the window, but he knows he can't. The memories on that phone are all he has left.

He watches the caller ID's flash across the black screen.

 _PJ._

 _Chris._

 _Louise._

 _Tyler._

 _Cat._

 _Felix._

 _His parents._

 _Phil's parents._

As he sees the name _Phil's parents_ flash across the screen he flinches, dropping the phone on the floor.

Why them?

Surely they don't want to see him anymore.

Surely they blame him as much as he blames himself.

 **3rd Month**

He still hasn't opened the front door. If he had, he would have seen the box's and letters piling up behind it.

Condolence letters from his friends, packages of comfort food, money to help him get by, pictures of him when he was happy.

He would have seen people still loved him.

It wouldn't have mattered to him though. He only loved Phil.

And Phil was never coming back.

 **4th Month**

He convinced himself to go outside, coaxed himself.

He almost tripped over everything in the hallway.

He picked the packages up and placed them just inside the doorway, not giving them a second glance as he shut the door behind him.

He had no intention of opening them.

…

He stumbles back through the apartment door, thoughts hazy, a bitter taste in his throat.

He collapses on the couch, blind drunk, and sobbing.

He couldn't drown the memories.

He was found in the morning when Chris and PJ burst into the apartment, throwing up all over himself.

…

 **5th Month**

The hard snow crackles underneath his shoes as he stumbles to his car. The freezing air around him stings his face. Hot tears burn his cold cheeks and he can see his breath hanging in the sky as he lets out a panting sob. He doesn't have a jacket, but he doesn't care. His hands shake as he fumbles to unlock the car.

There were no stars in the sky.

There was no moon.

Just black.

Finally he unlocks the door and gets in, quickly starting the ignition and pulling out of the driveway in a rush.

He couldn't stay in that goddamn apartment anymore.

He had to get out.

He pulled onto the highway and pressed down the gas.

It was 3:12 in the morning.

The number flashed at him from the dashboard, the only light in the car.

As he drove further and further away from the lights of the city, the clouds cleared and the stars came out.

The air felt frozen in his lungs, the tears seemed endless. He was running away from everything he knew.

A green sign looming above him announced an exit and he turned down it, letting the road take him anywhere it wanted as he drove down an abandoned highway, the sunrise starting to peak over the bleak world around him.

 **6th Month**

He came back.

He didn't want to. He couldn't express the physical pain that driving back to the place that was responsible for the spilt blood of his best friend caused him.

But he couldn't keep running.

Everything he used to love was there. His friends, his family, the memories, his life.

Phil.

He doesn't want to be further away from _him_ then he has to be, even though _the_ door is still locked tight.

His clothes hang off his body.

He takes sleeping pills.

Dark circles hang under his eyes.

He was slowly but surely dying from the inside out, and he felt like a coward for crawling back after only a few weeks.

He was a coward for not moving on.

 **7th Month**

The leaves bloom in brilliant colors outside. They suck the color from the rest of the world as they gain a bright jade hue.

A new day is here, signaling the start of a fresh beginning, one that Dan doesn't want.

He's not ready to let go.

He's not going to let go.

Never.

He's even started writing to him.

 _Phil, please just come home._

 _Around you I didn't feel lost. I looked at you, and I was home._

 _I just miss you so much._

 _Don't leave me._

 **8th Month**

Lights flash in his mind, blinding him. His skin bubbles against his bones.

He was so _angry._

 _They may be able to remember you as you were but I won't!_

 _I saw you bleed out into the street. I held your hand as the lights faded from your eyes._

 _I can hear your last words as they ring through my ears._

 _I'm terrified of losing you, of moving on._

 _Phil, it might be fine to you, but as everyone forgets me I am going to lose myself._

 _I've lost my friends, I've lost my roots, I've lost everything._

 _I'm drowning in a sea of memories, and I don't have a lifesaver._

 _"Please don't forget me."_

 _I'm trying Phil. I'm trying._

 **9th Month**

A knock at the door.

 _"Get out!"_ he screams, voice muffled by the pillow.

A jangle of keys. The door creaks open.

Dan buries his face in the bed.

 _Just leave me….._

Someone calls his name. It's a women's voice. One he remembers. One thick with an accent different then his own.

He drags his too-long limbs to the living room.

There are Phil's parents.

Dan stumbles back, but Phil's mother comes forward, wrapping her arms around him, her face wet with tears.

After a while she lets go, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to look at her. She smiles at him sadly, her cheeks damp.

He wonders what they want, why Phil's parents are standing in his front entrance, his mother crying and his father staring at the ground, arms wrapped around himself.

It's then that the father looks up and begins talking.

He thanks Dan for taking such good care of their son, as if Phil was a lost puppy Dan had taken in.

He says they don't blame him. He says they love Dan like their own child.

Dan doesn't believe them, but gives a weak half-smile anyway.

He shows them to Phil's room but makes no attempt to open the door for them. And when they go inside, he stays exactly where he is, turning his eyes away from the entrance.

He can hear Phil's mother sobbing and his father's choked words of grief.

He can't wait for them to leave.

He can see Phil's face in the plains of theirs.

It physically hurts too observe.

There's too much sadness in the house, and not any Phil to balance it out.

Eventually the two older adults exit the bedroom.

Dan smiles half-heartedly at them, the emotion not reaching his eyes.

They show themselves out, but not before telling him (again) how grateful they are to him.

As soon as they leave Dan lets out a sob he's been holding for over an hour.

He could see Phil in them, in their faces, in their movements.

They said they came for him, but they didn't.

No one cared about Dan.

He turns towards his bedroom, trying to wipe away the tears as crimson blood leaks out of fresh slices of skin.

If had he looked inside Phil's bedroom, he would have seen a framed photo of him and Phil with an unlit singular candle lying sadly on the bed.

 **10th Month**

He still remembers it with a horrifying clarity.

How he found Phil.

Bloody and bruised, crimson liquid seeping down the corner of his mouth as he looked at Dan with fear in his eyes.

How he clasped onto Dan's hand with the last of his strength.

How Dan had started crying as he held Phil close, repeating the same words over and over.

When you repeat a sentence too many times it starts to lose its meaning.

 _"I love you, I love you, I love you."_

" _Dan, please, I'm so scared."_

 _"I know Phil, I know. I'm right here, it's ok."_

 _"Please don't forget me."_

 _"I'd never do that Phil. I love you."_

It had been already too late. Phil's eyes had glassed over and a vacant stare had grasped his expression. His hold on Dan's hand fell away, and he was gone.

Blood still ran into the gutter as Dan clutched the body, willing his life into Phil's, for him to die instead of the person he cared about most.

 **11th Month:**

He lays curled in his bed, a hollow, sunken shadow of his former self, huddled under the blankets for warmth, something his bony body can't help him with anymore.

The sky is a bleak grey, his heart a deep black, pumping liquid poison through his veins.

His eyes are sucked dry of the tears that sting like acid.

His chest is hollow of everything that let him feel.

His lungs are aching caverns of tissue.

Everything around him is dull, devoid of color.

The silence is so loud, it screams in his ears.

His chest is a cage trying to hold the monster within.

He was so tired, physically and mentally. He just wanted to close his eyes and never open them again.

He's been sad for so long that he can't cry anymore. He just lays there and feels numb.

He's so empty, but filled with so much pain.

He's dying, and he'd have it no other way.

 **12th Month**

He threw the calendar away a long time ago. He doesn't want to count the days where he's alone.

He doesn't know the date.

He doesn't care.

His eyes are now completely rimmed with black.

He can count his ribs.

He can't move out of his bed, and hasn't been able to because of the weakness that fills his entire body.

He has no words to explain all the hate he has for himself. He's fucking repulsed by himself.

At this point he feels like he has nothing to lose. Everything is gone anyway.

He opens up his computer for the first time in as long as he can remember. Holding it makes him feel physically ill, like he's betraying Phil by visiting a world they both loved.

Immediately his face appears on the screen.

He doesn't bother trying to hide his appearance in the black and white video. His eyes look black against his pale skin.

He can't muster a smile, just stares blankly into the lens.

Thousands and thousands are watching in seconds.

On the "friends that are watching" side he can see his friend's name's popping up

 **KickthePJ**

 **SparkleOfGlitter**

 **CrabStickz**

 **Catfrific**

 **Tyler Oakley**

God, he didn't even know they **had** the app.

Millions of comments fly through the chat section.

 _Dan!_

 _Are you alive?!_

 _You look horrible!_

 _Where have you been?_

 _Where's Philly?_

A few tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

Private messages from Louise, Chris, PJ, Tyler and Cat are beeping wildly as they each start texting him at once, franticly asking about his wellbeing.

 ** _PJ: DAN FUCKING HOWELL YOU SPEAK TO ME RIGHT NOW_**

 ** _Louise: Please Dan, come speak to me._**

 ** _Cat: You've known me for so long you can trust me_**

 ** _Chris: GET YOUR ASS ON THIS CHAT AND REPLY TO ME YOU FUCKER_**

 ** _Tyler: Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you for weeks_**

 _WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU AND PHIL_

 _What are you hiding?_

 _Why have you been avoiding the internet?_

Why had he thought this was a good idea? He didn't like this. He didn't like feeling so exposed.

Every beep was a scar on the throne he had built, reminding him of everything he'd done.

 _"_ Guys!" Dan screamed. He could take it no longer.

The beeping slowed and he could think clearer.

"Hello Internet," he waved forlornly. His head still lay on his worn pillow, his neck too heavy to lift.

 _What's going on?_

"I'm Dan Howell, aka danisnotonfire and I-I, um, I…."

 _You never start your live shows this way_

What now? Where is he going with this? God he's a fucking moron.

Unfortunately for him, the viewers weren't.

 _Phil_

 _Where's Phil?_

 _Philly?_

 _DAN WHAT HAPPENED TO PHIL_

The beeping roared in his ears.

He couldn't take it.

Everything was too much and suddenly he couldn't breathe or think or live…

 _"_ PHIL'S DEAD," he shrieked. He was so loud his ears rang.

Every beep stopped.

The silence rang in his head.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

His wrists stung as if all the cuts had reopened and someone had poured vinegar in them.

"He died August 12th 2015 and I was there with him while he passed," he whispered. "He got hit by a bus and bled out on the street while I held him."

His voice cracked as he felt his world crumble.

"I'm sorry no one told you sooner, but I-I." he sucked in air as his lungs began to burn.

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't talk.

It was another fucking panic attack.

Tears poured down his cheeks as his heart pounded.

 _…..Are you joking?_

 _Dan! Are you Ok?_

No….. no I'm not…..

He tried to get a grip on himself.

"Guy's, I know we've joked about this before, but this is real. I wish it wasn't. You have no idea how much…" Tears are retracing themselves down his cheeks.

 **PJ: Dan, please. Don't do anything rash. I'm coming over right now.**

No, no, just leave me alone….

 **Chris: ….Dan, do you know what day it is?**

 _We love you, we'll support you_

I don't deserve it…

 _It's August 12th today_

 _You came to talk on the 1 year anniversary? You're so brave_

His breath stopped in his throat

The words burn in his mind.

 **One year.**

A scream rips from his throat. A primal one full of pain as everything comes back at once, everything his mind tried to repress from him.

He can't live with the ghosts that are ripping him apart.

Every mental illness he has consumes him and doubles in strength, swallowing his soul, sucking the air from his lungs. He is not the depression, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the self-harm. They are _him._

All his viewers see is sky rushing towards the ground and a violent disconnection as the laptop smashes into a million pieces three stories down.

He violently shoves the covers off his body. His legs are so weak and thin that his knees buckle under the little weight his body holds.

He crawls on his hands and knees, in as much physical pain as he has ever felt as his body screams in torment.

He is much too weak, much too thin, much too sick.

He enters Phil's room for the first time in as long as he can remember, his arms bleeding from where he has cut them on the window.

The ruby red blood is beautiful, flowing down his pale white arms.

" _I love you Phil. I'm coming to meet you."_

He can't wait any longer.

….

The police station is bombarded with 999 calls each screaming hysterically that a "Daniel James Howell" is unstable and home alone.

A few of the callers can give an address and soon enough the ambulance is outside the apartment complex, sirens shrieking.

Paramedics run up the stairs, bursting into the apartment.

They find a young, brown haired man hanging from the ceiling in what looks like a bedroom, a green and blue duvet wrapped around his neck.


End file.
